PMS in Its Most Unbearable Form
by Emily Katherine
Summary: Donna needs a chocolate fix and maybe a Josh fix as well.


.PMS in Its Most Unbearable Form.

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Author: Emily Katherine

Disclaimer: They aren't mine! (This is a cruel world we live in)

Spoilers: None

Summary: Donna needs a chocolate fix—and maybe a Josh fix as well.

Note: Interpret this however you want. I started writing this with them "not together," but it kinda transformed into a "together" story…I don't know…read it yourself!

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Chocolate. I need chocolate.

It is currently 31 minutes past midnight and I'm holed up in my boss's office amongst a sea of paperwork while he's off cavorting God-knows-where with two elite and powerful democrats. Both women, I might add.

I could really go for some chocolate right now.

Not that I'm jealous or anything. I mean, it's natural for an assistant to feel just a little—okay maybe extremely is a better word—concerned/intimidated by the idea of her boss getting completely smashed with two political sirens, right? Right. I didn't think so. So, in the midst of throwing my papers around in mild distress, I realize that I'm making a colossal mess that will most likely result in an extra hour or two of pure frustration as I attempt to reorganize everything.

Dammit. I really need some chocolate.

This strange craving that has plagued me since this morning is most likely brought on by the fact that tomorrow I will begin that week-long nightmare that women have come to fear, and, suffice to say, I am not pleased. This should also explain my hostile behavior and the inappropriate feelings I have for my boss. Okay, maybe not the latter. That's pretty much a chronic thing.

Chocolate...

Okay. I really need to work. The sooner I get this done, the sooner I can get home to a bowl of Breyers. With a layer of M&Ms on top. And maybe chocolate syrup, too. And whipped cream. Maybe some chocolate milk to wash it all down...

Oh for God's sake!

"Donna?"

I manage to pry my face from the carpet where I'm lying on my stomach banging my fist on a stack of files and look up to find my aforementioned boss standing in the doorway, looking rumpled, confused, and uncannily sober. I roll over onto my back and throw an arm over my eyes.

There's no place like home. There's no place like home. There's no...

"Donna."

Dammit. I forgot to click my heels.

"Yes, Josh?" My voice sounds about as weak as I feel. I slowly uncover my face and meet his gaze.

"What's going on?" he asks me as he attempts to wade through the myriad files scattered across his office floor.

"What does it look like, Josh?" I ask irritably, indicating the piles of paperwork.

I need chocolate. Now.

He stops at my feet and grins. "Actually, it looks like..."

I hold up a hand to silence him. I don't have the patience to deal with this—with him—right now. Not when he left me alone to go out for drinks with those...wait...

"You're not drunk." It comes out as a statement rather than a question.

He shakes his head, still grinning.

"Why?" I'm very curious now.

He takes off his coat and blazer, chucks them at the coat rack, and misses. Who couldn't love this man? Wait...did I say love? I meant who couldn't laugh at him. Yeah. That's what I meant.

"I just didn't want to," he informs me with a shrug. I raise an eyebrow inquisitively. He holds up both hands, palms outward. "Now don't get me wrong—those two certainly turned up the charm and offered to pay for enough tequilas to fill my bathtub." He starts to lay down next to me. "But..."

"But what, Josh?" My voice has taken on a strange breathy quality. His shoulder presses into mine as he makes himself comfortable at my right side. He looks over at me and I swear his eyes are actually glittering.

Oh. My. God. I need some chocolate.

"Truth is, Donna," he looks away for a second, then looks back, "all I could think about was you sitting in my office alone and most likely hating me, so I got the hell outta there."

I experience momentary speechlessness as I wonder who he is and what the sirens did with my boss.

"I find that story a little hard to believe," I tell him, smiling a little. "Well, not the part about me hating you. That's definitely plausible."

"You hate me!" he asks, shocked.

I smile and shake my head. "No, but I said it was plausible."

He looks confused. I reach up and trace his hairline. He smiles.

Chocolate!

"Well," he starts, "I figured we'd be here for, well, forever, so I took the liberty of stopping to get you something. You know, just in case you hated me." He grins, reaches up to his desk, and produces a white bakery bag, placing it delicately on my stomach.

"What is it?" I ask gleefully. It's enough not to just rip open the bag and...wait...I just got a good whiff of whatever's inside...oh God, no he didn't...it smells like...

"Chocolate," he's smiling again, dimples and all. You know, "dimple" should be a verb. Because right now, Joshua Lyman isn't just smiling. He's practically _dimple_-ing. I open the bag and pull out a huge, homemade chocolate bar. "You've been babbling about it all day. If it'll at least shut you up, we can get all of this done faster." He waves his hand over the floor for emphasis.

I look over at him, tears in my eyes. Yes, okay? I needed chocolate _that_ bad. He's propped up on an elbow, watching my reaction in amusement.

"Josh, I..." I can't think of anything to say that will correctly convey the complete and utter joy I feel at this moment, so I pull his face to me and kiss him squarely on the lips. Then I proceed to devour the creamy morsel in my hand while he drums his fingers on my hip and "dimples" at me.

.end.


End file.
